The westering sun and the gold light of the sea and the caress of a spring wind be perilous setting for a fair face. I looked and looked again.
"Hortense, should an oath to the dead bind the living?"
"If it was right to take the oath, yes," said Hortense.
"Hortense, I may never see you alone again. I promised to treat you as I would treat a sister——"
"But—" interrupts Hortense.
Footsteps were approaching along the sand. I thought only of the blackamoor and soldier.
"I promised to treat you as I would a sister—but what—Hortense?"
"But—but I didn't promise to treat you as I would a brother——"
Then a voice from the other side of the rock: "Devil sink my soul to the bottom of the sea if that viper Frenchman hasn't all our furs packed away in his hold!"
Then—"A pox on him for a meddlesome—" the voice fell.